Of the sea
I was not formed from earth:
A dirty rib, used and scratching.
His name wasn’t on the birth certificate.
A womb of one’s own, forged in a locked room—
Nourished by sadness and
the shame they made her feel.
The sea always felt like home,
wind born waves held me.
Rocked me to sleep in a salted cradle.
Sometimes the monsters would come—
Emerging from beneath,
threatening to take my legs.
They never could, and I floated
Wishing I could row.
The cigarette burns cascade down a forearm
A mottled white waterfall of scars
Look where they’ve been, look what they’ve seen
Dead memories stall at the skin’s surface
Freckles excised by heat, puckered new land emerged.
Atlantis risen to the air